Scapegoat
by TJ-TeeJay
Summary: In the wake of the aftermath of the U-boat incident, a case of bond forgery points unmistakably at a certain convicted bond forger well known to the FBI. PG-13, Gen.


**Title:** Scapegoat  
><strong>Author:<strong> TeeJay  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Gen  
><strong>CharactersPairings: **Neal, Peter, Diana  
><strong>Written for:<strong> poorfenny for the LiveJournal collarcorner Prompt Fest Round 6  
><strong>PromptRequest:** I would love a fic about trust issues, because I can't get enough! =)  
><strong>Would like:<strong> Peter to doubt Neal. A crime has been committed, and Peter just knows that Neal is responsible. Except he isn't. When it is discovered that Neal really is innocent, Peter has already crossed lines/said something cruel or hurtful. I would like a happy ending, though.  
><strong>Don't Want:<strong> Character death, permanent injury, or for their friendship to be irreparably damaged  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Warning:<strong> Minor spoilers for 1x12 'Bottlenecked' & 2x14 'Payback' and major spoilers for 2x16 'Under The Radar'  
><strong>Summary: <strong>In the wake of the aftermath of the U-boat incident, a case of bond forgery points unmistakably at a certain convicted bond forger well known to the FBI.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> This is kind of a repost of my previous story "Then Prove It", which is a relatively short one-shot that I already posted a while ago. I have since continued it because a few very kind reviewers asked for a continuation of the story. Then poorfenny posted a prompt at collarcorner that I thought would fit perfectly with the setting of this, so I tagged that on to what I had already written.  
>Just FYI: This was written prior to episode 3x01 having aired, so AU-ishness for season 3 is pretty much unavoidable.<br>Thanks go out to the guys at wcwu for helping me with ideas for a certain plot device for this story. And of course, as usual, I owe rabidchild67 a big thanks for the beta read.  
><strong>Technical Note:<strong> Ganesvoort St. (as printed on the business card Neal finds on his dining table) doesn't exist in New York, according to Google Maps. There's a Gansevoort St., which is outside of Neal's radius. (See, I do my research!) It doesn't seem to have a number 77850 though. So, for the sake of this story, can we pretend Ganesvoort St. is not the same as Gansevoort St. and that it's within Neal's radius?  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> White Collar, its characters and its settings belong to Jeff Eastin and USA Network. And, guys? Your characters are not only welcome, they're wonderful. I'm just borrowing, I promise.

* * *

><p><em>I think you did it.<em>

The words reverberated in Neal's head—Peter's words. The look on his face, it spelled pure anger, accusation, distrust.

Neal had never felt so wronged in his life, nor cared so much about it. Peter's words, they'd been a punch to the gut, and then some. It had ignited a fireball of cold fury inside of Neal. "Then prove it," he'd spat out, and the disappointment and anger made his teeth clench after he spoke it.

With brisk steps, he walked away from Peter, turning around one last time to look at him. His expression was still frozen in a betrayed, enraged glare that stared daggers into Neal's back.

He kept walking, it didn't matter where or how long. Maybe fifty yards along the dock, maybe a hundred, and then he sat down on a wooden crate someone had left behind.

_I think you did it._

The long con, the one Peter talked about. Neal would have to lie if it hadn't occurred to him. But just as quickly as the idea had appeared, it had vanished again. Because Neal wasn't an idiot. He'd never get away with this.

There were risks associated with every con, and even though Neal liked to push the envelope, he had never in his life pulled anything that he wasn't reasonably sure he could get out of, get away with. Except maybe when he broke out of jail after Kate told him she was going to leave him. But that had been different. He hadn't been thinking clearly then. And he hadn't cared about what would happen to him.

He was thinking very clearly now, and he cared. Temptation and reason had chased each other in his mind all night, but the voice of reason (which sounded frighteningly like Peter Burke) had been louder, harsher, more convincing.

He knew Moz would berate him for it if he knew, telling him how he'd changed, how he was just one step short of succumbing to something as corrupted and easy to manipulate as the US justice system.

_I think you did it._

Deep down, that hurt, more than Neal would care to admit. He'd never lied to Peter, and he hadn't lied now when he told him he didn't steal the artwork. Peter's face lingered in his mind's eye, and Neal's eyes filled with red-hot tears of anger and injustice.

_Dammit, Peter, I didn't lie to you!_ Neal wanted to shout. What would it take for Peter Burke to believe him? What had _happened_ that Peter wouldn't believe him? This felt wrong, so very wrong.

He knew Peter to be nothing but fair. He'd given Neal the benefit of the doubt more than once. Hell, he'd even given him immunity for a night. Why? Why this now? What had changed? Was it the fact that he had just shot a man, shot him to protect Neal? He could understand that Peter would be upset, but did that explain the unbridled outburst of anger, the forthright accusation? Neal couldn't make sense of it.

He sat there for another long moment before he angrily wiped at the tears and got up. He'd learn soon enough. Because Peter was not the type who let things stew. He'd confront Neal eventually, probably sooner rather than later.

And Neal would be ready. He'd hold his head up high and brace himself against tide and tirade. Because he had nothing to fear. He was as innocent of this crime as he'd told Peter to his face.

"Prove it, Peter Burke," Neal muttered as he pushed himself up to find a place where a cab could pick him up. "And then you'll find you won't be able to, because there's nothing _to_ prove."

* * *

><p>"Boss?" Diana asked, her voice pregnant with both curiosity and apprehension.<p>

She watched Neal walk away and out of sight, and the look on Peter's face didn't bode well. Something had just happened—something big.

"Peter?" she asked again, and his gaze whipped around to face her.

"What?" he snapped.

It was so sharp and angry that she almost recoiled. "Is there something we should know?"

"You and Jones, go back to the office," he said coldly.

She looked at Peter for a short moment, then nodded. "All right."

Clinton stood on the other side of the car and she gave him a questioning look. He could just shrug his shoulders. This wasn't like them—Peter and Caffrey. She'd only seen Peter this riled up once, and it had been personal then.

Was this about Adler, about Peter shooting him? Peter had shot, even killed perpetrators before. He'd always been subdued, quiet in the days afterwards. Taking lives was never easy, and it always left a mark on one's soul. No, this felt bigger than Adler and his intention to dispatch of Neal.

She turned back around to watch Peter pick something up from the ground, and this made her even more curious.

She knew it was probably the wrong thing to do, but she couldn't help it. She'd been on the receiving end of some of Peter's lectures before. She'd been at this job long enough not to let that deter her. She was a big girl.

Approaching Peter, she tried to make out what he was holding—was staring at. When she got close enough, she realized it was a piece of painting. The predominant color was blue, even though it was charred at the edges by the fire. The style looked vaguely Cubistic. She'd not seen it before, not that she could recall.

"So what's this?" she asked, her voice steadfast.

"Diana, with all due respect, it's none of your business."

"So you're saying it has nothing to do with Adler? The warehouse, the fire? Come on, Peter, I'm not stupid."

Peter made a sound that sounded almost like a growl, and his facial expression only underlined it. She could see his jaw muscles work, and it was enough to tell her she had hit a sore spot. "What is going on here? How does Neal fit into this?"

"Neal is not a part of this investigation anymore. At least not on this side of the fence."

Diana frowned. And what did _that_ mean?

Peter saw the unanswered questions on Diana's face and interjected before she could ask. "We will talk about this later. Take Jones and go back to the office."

Out of the corner of his eye, Diana saw EMTs loading Adler into an ambulance. She wasn't sure Peter had shot to kill, but if he had, it looked like he hadn't succeeded. Which, for Peter's sake, was probably a good thing. "You want me to take Neal with us?"

"If you find him, take him. If not, Neal's a big boy."

Between the lines, Diana read, 'Don't look too hard,' so she didn't. Neal was nowhere in sight, so she told Jones to get in the car and drove back to the office as instructed by her boss.

* * *

><p>Peter watched Diana walking back to the silver sedan, the singed piece of Neal's painting in his hand—and he realized it was shaking ever so slightly. He cursed himself for letting Neal get under his skin like that.<p>

_Then prove it._

He would. He'd find a way. Because Neal wouldn't get away with this. The long con, the one he must have been dreaming about. Peter remembered the surprise and then glee on Neal's face in the belly of the U-boat upon discovering what it was carrying. Peter also knew how low Neal's threshold for resisting temptation was when it came to invaluable artwork paired with a true challenge. And this must have been the ultimate temptation.

The blood still boiled in his veins at the mere thought that Neal had pulled off this heist.

_Dammit, Neal!_

Why? Why would he do this? And why did it upset Peter so much? Deep down, he knew it was because he cared. And he cursed himself _and_ Neal for it. So here they were, in an unsolvable conundrum. Peter would have to prove that Neal stole the artwork, and when he did, he wouldn't be able to protect him. He'd have to go back to prison, and it would be much longer than four years. Peter couldn't bear the thought of Neal back in a cold, barren prison cell. And that was what made him hear the blood rushing in his ears.

It wasn't that he didn't want to trust Neal. Because he did. But Neal had proven him wrong too many times.

* * *

><p>"It's been one week since you looked at me, cocked your head to the side and said, 'I'm angry.' Five days since you laughed at me..."<p>

Elizabeth hummed along to the familiar tune on the radio as she chopped away at the carrots. She liked this song, even though she couldn't recall the name of the band.

They had gotten to the part where they sang about the Smoking Man from The X-Files when she heard the front door open. Wiping her hands on a towel, she went into the living room to greet her husband.

"Hi Honey."

He looked weary, exhausted. There were tiny flecks of dirt on his gray suit that looked like ash particles. His voice didn't betray the fact that something had jarred him.

"Hey El," he half sighed.

She closed the gap between them, immediately worried. "Honey, you look like hell. What happened?"

"It's a long story."

"Are you okay? Did anyone get hurt? Is Neal okay?"

At the mention of Neal's name, a shadow crossed his face, and Elizabeth couldn't help but notice. She watched him walk over to the dining room table, dropping heavily into one of the chairs.

"Yeah, everyone's fine. Well, except for Adler. He was shot."

"Shot? Did Neal...?"

"No. I shot him."

"You shot him? Why?"

"He was about to kill Neal."

"Oh." The vegetables forgotten, she sat down at the table across from him. "Tell me what happened. And I think you better start at the beginning."

He rubbed his face in his hands, emitting a long sigh. And then he started recounting the events of the day.

Elizabeth listened, growing more worried and concerned with every minute. Coupled with what happened the day before, when her husband had almost died (twice), the whole story sounded incredible, like something out of a Jerry Bruckheimer movie. And then there was the part where Peter found the piece of Chrysler Building painting—Neal's painting.

She wasn't sure where this was going, but the contempt in Peter's voice gave her a pretty good idea. "He did this, El. Tell me, what am I supposed to do?"

"He did what?" she asked, more as a challenge than a real question.

"He blew up the U-boat. Stole the treasure before he did, for all I know."

"And you know this, how? By finding a piece of a painting that you think is Neal's?"

"I don't _think_ it's Neal's, I _know_ it's Neal's! I've seen it. It was right there, in his apartment. He even told me he painted it. Said it was his way of relaxing."

"Okay, so let's assume for a moment that it was indeed Neal's painting, how does that prove that he set off the explosion? Why would he put his own painting in there? You know Neal is a smart man, and it just doesn't sound like something he would be stupid enough to do. It sounds to me like someone tried very hard to frame him."

"Why would someone frame him? And who?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "You're asking me? I don't know. Adler maybe? He knew Neal was going to come after him. He must have gotten wind of the whole disaster when Neal almost shot Fowler. He knew Neal would want to avenge Kate. Maybe it was his way of making sure Neal would no longer be a threat to him."

"And why would Adler blow up his own U-boat?"

"Maybe he didn't. Maybe he emptied it long before it blew up. Put Neal's painting in there so that when you would find the U-boat, you'd suspect Neal."

"And why would someone else blow up the U-boat when it was already empty? That just doesn't make any sense."

"You said it was rigged with explosives. Maybe they went off by accident. Could be that the explosion wasn't part of anyone's plan."

"I don't know, El. It just feels wrong."

"And you're willing to denounce Neal on your gut feeling?"

"Oh, so now you're on _his_ side?"

She gave him a look. "Come on, Peter. I'm not on anyone's side. I'm just saying that maybe you need to give him the benefit of the doubt. It's always been guilty until proven innocent with you and Neal."

"And that's because he keeps giving me reason to doubt his innocence."

"You said he told you to your face that he didn't do it."

"Yeah."

"Doesn't that count for something?"

He released a long, unsteady breath. "I don't know. I don't know anything anymore."

"Wait. Have you checked his tracking data? Surely it must show if he was at the dock."

"I checked. He was home the whole time."

"Then how do you explain him stealing the treasure?"

"Oh, come on. You know he still has connections. The Little Guy could have helped him. Or whatever other shady characters owe him favors. He's pretty good at outsourcing. This didn't require him to be there in person."

Elizabeth lifted her arms in defeat. "You're pretty hell-bent on wanting to pin this on Neal. Looks like you've already made up your mind."

He bristled at her obvious disapproval. "I can't believe you don't see it. This is the long con, the one he's been planning for God knows how long, the one that'll set him for life. El, he's a con man. It's just who he is. I saw him in the U-boat, the glint in his eyes when he realized what he was looking at. There is no way he could just let that go."

"Okay, fine," she said, getting up from the table. "Tell me when you've found something that proves it. Because until then, I'd like to think that Neal told you the truth."

She went back into the kitchen, and Peter put his head in his hands. "Great," he muttered. Just when he thought his day couldn't get any worse.

* * *

><p>Neal couldn't believe it. Standing in the midst of long-lost, priceless art from all over the world, the grin slowly vanished from his face. The initial glee was replaced by uncertainty. Uncertainty about his next course of action. This was too good to be true. All these masterpieces, unique works of art, and all within his grasp—literally.<p>

But what to do with them now? Tell the FBI? Peter? What would happen if he did? Peter already thought he was behind the theft. If he showed him all of this, it would only prove Peter's point, no matter how much he belabored the point of his innocence. Not an option, then.

There was another problem, though. His tracking anklet. They had put it back on when they had returned to the Bureau after being rescued from the dry dock. Once Peter got back to work in the morning, he'd surely check Neal's position—if he wasn't already doing so. It was a small miracle in itself that the warehouse was within Neal's radius, otherwise the Marshals would already be on his heels.

So Neal did the only thing he could think of. He called Mozzie and asked him to come to the storage hold.

Moz was there within half an hour, eyes wide, mouth agape. Once he got over his initial shock, Neal told him about his dilemma. And Mozzie being Mozzie, he made calls, called in favors and conjured up an impromptu plan from thin air.

By 5:30 AM, every last piece of artwork had been transported to a secure location without any traces left behind. Mozzie had even managed to get a clean-up crew in there. It would be near impossible for the FBI to find any evidence of Nazi loot in the storage hold.

When everyone but Mozzie and Neal had left, they stood in the middle of the empty space, looking at each other.

Mozzie said, "Okay, now that that's done, what are you actually going to do with all this? Half this stuff will send up immediate flags, and the other half will be impossible to fence without anyone eventually realizing what it is."

"Which is why I'm not going to fence it."

Mozzie raised his eyebrows. "You're going to keep it? And do what with it? You can't display any of it."

Neal shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I'm just going to quite literally let the dust settle on it for a while."

"What a waste," Mozzie sighed.

"You got any other ideas?"

"Have you entertained the notion of telling the Suit?"

"I have."

"And I'm guessing it's not an option?"

"Not right now," Neal said curtly.

Mozzie lifted his hands. "Okay, I don't know whatever happened between you and him, but I think I'd prefer not to know. So what are you gonna tell the Suit about why you were here? Because you know he will be asking."

A small smile played at Neal's lips. He'd already thought about this. "You used to live in a storage unit, didn't you?"

"Wait, now you're getting _me_ involved in this?"

"Moz, you are _already _involved."

"Not as far as the Suit is concerned."

"Relax, we don't have anything to worry about. They won't find anything that can link you or me to the treasure. This place is as clean as a whistle."

"At least that's the theory," Mozzie huffed.

"Wait, are you telling me it's not?"

"No, no," he quickly interjected. "This is as clean as it gets. Within the time constraints given, that is."

"It'll do," Neal assured him. "Besides, what is Peter going to do? He'll need a warrant to take a closer look at this place, and he'll need probable cause to get one. The mere fact I was here tonight doesn't count as such."

That seemed to satisfy Mozzie. "Fair enough. Are we done here?"

"We're done here."

After Neal took a last look at the empty room, he turned to Mozzie. His voice was sincere. "Moz? Thank you."

Mozzie looked down, suddenly uncomfortable. "You're welcome," he said quietly.

* * *

><p>The atmosphere between Neal and Peter in the office the next morning was testy, if not downright contentious. Neal arrived late, looking the worse for wear, and Peter's suspicions immediately flared up. He frowned at seeing Neal's tracking data. It didn't exactly help in making Neal look less guilty.<p>

He went down into the bullpen to Neal's desk, shoving the printout in Neal's face. "A warehouse on Ganesvoort Street? Mind telling me what you were doing there?"

Neal sighed a weary sigh. "What, now I'm not allowed to go where I want within my radius?"

"Don't test me, Neal."

"Mozzie lives in a storage unit."

"So you went to see Mozzie?"

"I met with Mozzie there, yes."

"To his storage unit? Where he lives?"

Damn, Neal really didn't want to lie to Peter. "Look, I needed someone to talk to, all right? Someone who would understand."

That hurt, and Neal knew it. Peter bristled at the stinging comment. "So you're telling me if I go there, I am going to find a storage unit made into living quarters."

"Actually, chances are that you're going to find an _empty_ storage unit."

Peter just glared at him and Neal elaborated, "You know how Mozzie gets. The location's now been compromised. He values the secrecy of his hideouts. You remember how quickly he gave up Tuesday after you stayed there, right?"

Peter's jaw muscles worked, his eyes dark with accusation. "This all sounds a little too convenient. I think you're up to something."

Neal couldn't hide the sarcasm from his voice. "Really, Peter? Are we back to 'Neal must have stolen the treasure because he'll always be a con man?' I told you to prove it. So prove it."

"Oh, I will."

"Yeah, good luck with that."

Peter turned on his heels and stomped back to his office. He'd never get a warrant, not without a good reason to look inside the warehouse, and Neal knew that too. He would still visit the address in Ganesvoort Street. There was no way he couldn't.

* * *

><p>That evening, back in his apartment, Neal noticed for the first time that something was missing. The easel in the corner of the room was empty. Where his painting of the Chrysler building had stood just the day before, there was now an empty space.<p>

This was odd. Had someone been here and taken it? The only people who had access to his apartment were June and the housekeeper. And of course June would allow access to the people she knew Neal trusted, which pretty much included Peter, Elizabeth, Sara, Alex and Mozzie. Maybe also Diana and Jones. Still, he couldn't think of a good reason why any of them would take an unfinished painting from his place without asking first.

It did seem suspicious somehow, but he dismissed the thought for now. He'd ask June if she knew what happened to the painting at the next opportunity . Plus, he'd not had any particular plans for the artwork, it would have ended up in storage with the other paintings he'd produced in recent weeks. Maybe one day he'd be able to get them into an exhibition, but he wasn't sure if he cared enough.

* * *

><p>It took Peter until the next day to go to the warehouse, mainly because Hughes had dropped a new case in his lap that required immediate action, including input from Neal, which Peter had grudgingly allowed. The tension among everyone on the team was tangible, but his team was professional enough not to let that interfere with their work.<p>

Peter had used the lull after lunch break to take the Taurus and drive out to the Manhattan docks. The warehouse in Ganesvoort Street wasn't easy to find, mainly because the numbers on the buildings had all but rusted away or never been there in the first place. From the outside, it looked like any storage warehouse. Peter got out of the car and circled the building, but he found nothing but dirt and old parts that looked like they had lain there for months—if not years. Naturally, all the doors were locked. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that corroborated his suspicions, and that irked the hell out of him.

What irked him even more, and he had a hard time admitting it, was the fact that he was so driven by the idea of finding incriminating evidence against Neal that he was even doing this. What was it that brought this on? He didn't want Neal to be the bad guy. Yet, here he was.

Damn. This was all wrong. And still he couldn't stop himself.

He walked around the warehouse once more, his eyes pinned to the ground. He even held his ear to the door, but there were no sounds other than the water lapping against the concrete in the distance and the seagulls crowing overhead.

The worst part of it was, Neal had been right. This had been a complete waste of time.

* * *

><p>It was purely by chance that things came to a head. A week later, Peter asked Neal to get an evidence box from the archives. Peter had inadvertently transposed the numbers when writing them down, and the box they opened in the conference room turned out to be the one from the U-boat explosion.<p>

Neal was already reaching inside, laying items out on the table before they realized they had the wrong box. Surprise turned to bafflement when Neal picked up the plastic bag with the charred piece of his Chrysler building painting. There was betrayal in his eyes when they met Peter's.

"What is this?" His voice was carefully dangerous, icy.

Peter's tone matched Neal's. "You tell me."

Neal swallowed. "This is a piece of my painting."

"Yeah," Peter said hollowly.

"How did it end up in an FBI evidence box?"

Now Peter's patience snapped. "Drop the pretense, Neal. You know damn well how it ended up there!"

Neal was taken aback. Were they back to this? "No, Peter, I damn well do _not_ know how it ended up there. You saw that painting, it was in my apartment. On my easel. And the next thing I know, it's gone."

"What do you mean, gone?"

"Gone, as in not there anymore. I came home and the easel was empty. You know, I never thought much of it, to be honest. Just figured maybe June or Mozzie had taken it. I didn't like it that much in the first place, so I never thought to investigate."

Peter laughed a hollow laugh. "Yeah. Right. What a nice, convenient little story you're telling."

Neal blinked, a twinge of disappointment spreading through his belly. "Peter, I'm telling you the truth. I swear to God. Whatever you think I did with the painting, I didn't. Where did you find it?"

Peter turned around and looked out the window, rubbing a hand over his face. "It came floating out of the warehouse, after the explosion. Landed right at my feet."

_Ah,_ Neal thought. At last, an explanation for Peter's reaction. He couldn't hide the sarcasm from his voice. "And you immediately jumped to the conclusion that I must have put it in the warehouse when I stole the treasure. Thank you for giving me the benefit of the doubt."

"Come on, what was I supposed to think?"

"Innocent until proven guilty? Ever heard of that concept?"

"Yeah, except you're not innocent. You've committed probably two dozen crimes that you've never been convicted for. And don't say 'allegedly' because I'm not stupid. You're a thief at heart, and you don't have the best track record when it comes to resisting temptation. I saw you in that U-boat. I saw the look in your eye."

Neal's shoulders slumped. Peter had slapped a stamp on him, and now it was hard to wash off the ink. "I'd have to be lying if I said I wasn't tempted. But please tell me, Peter. When would I have moved the treasure? I'm sure you checked my tracking data. Did it show I was anywhere near the warehouse?"

"No, but I know you have people you trust who'd do things for you."

"Mozzie? You can't be serious. He wouldn't go anywhere near a place he knew was rigged with explosives. Especially not after the Larssen incident."

"Alex?"

"Alex said goodbye to me before you asked me and Sara to have Cornish hens with you and your wife. I haven't spoken to her since."

"So you're telling me you didn't have anything to do with the explosion."

"Yes."

"Neal..." Peter sighed. "You know it's not that easy."

Now Neal raised his voice. "And why not? What do I need to do to prove to you that I didn't do this?"

"You know, I'm not sure you can."

"Well," Neal said, his voice resigned, disappointed. "At least we know where we stand. Can we now go back to pretending I'm a valued member of your team and not a convicted felon with a litany of unsolved crimes that have my name written on them? I'll be at my desk. Call me if you need me."

He left the conference room without looking back.

* * *

><p>The first thing Neal did that afternoon when he returned to his apartment was check the storage room where he kept all his paintings. His sudden suspicion had been right. Not a single one of his paintings was left. Someone had broken into his apartment and stolen all his paintings. Put them in the U-boat, most likely. Someone had wanted to frame him.<p>

He'd never told Peter that Adler offered him a deal, back at the warehouse before the explosion. And from the way Adler had reacted when the boat exploded, Neal didn't think it was him, even though he was a master manipulator and knew how to play mind games with people.

Was there someone else who had pulled a stunt on Adler, stolen the treasure out from under his nose? That would have been bold. Did he have a secret benefactor who knew that Adler had put the treasure into the Ganesvoort Street warehouse and made sure the key found its way into Neal's hands? It made Neal's head spin. What was ironic, though, was that Neal didn't take the deal, and still had not only half but _all_ of the treasure.

And the argument with Peter, it still made bile rise up in his throat. Things were complicated now. Too complicated. Because Neal was both innocent and guilty. It hurt to hear from Peter that he couldn't trust Neal, couldn't take his word at face value. Especially now that Neal was telling him the God's-honest truth. And it put a whole new spin on the disappointment when Neal thought about the fact that he actually had the treasure in his possession from everyone but Mozzie.

He knew he could not tell Peter. Not now, maybe not ever. And he prayed to God that Peter would never find out—because that would radically plough up whatever fragile ground they were treading on.

* * *

><p>"Is this the Medicaid fraud?" Neal asked, picking up the file that was lying on the edge of Peter's desk.<p>

"Yeah. Would be great if you could take a look, let me know your thoughts," Peter replied, matter-of-fact.

"Sure."

He turned around, hovering near the door for the briefest of moments, but left when Peter only stared at his computer monitor.

It had been like this for close to a three weeks now. They were walking on egg shells, only talking when they needed to, when it was about the cases they were working on. There was no pleasant banter, no jokes, no lunches. There were awkward silences when they ran into each other in the restroom or the kitchenette. They had the mutual out-of-the-way-keeping down to an art.

It was grating and hard on everyone on the team, but Neal was done trying to reconcile his innocence with Peter's bone-headed intent to blame him. If this was how it was going to be, then who was he to challenge the situation?

For the next hour, he worked the case, taking notes, consulting the databases (that is, those he had access to). Then Diana called him to the conference room.

They had convicted a criminal called Carl Johnson for grand larceny and Neal was set to testify in the trial. The Assistant United States Attorney was requesting that Neal be coached about the testimony, so he'd be spending the first half of the following week with the prosecution team. Apparently, they were nervous because he was a convicted criminal, which the defense was expected to exploit to their advantage.

The trial would follow immediately after, and it was expected to last several days. Diana and Jones would be supervising the whole thing. Neal welcomed it as an opportune distraction because Peter had only marginally been involved in the case and wasn't even being called as a witness.

* * *

><p>The next Monday, Hughes appeared in Peter's office, carrying a light blue file, placing it in front of Peter.<p>

"This just came in. I think you need to take a closer look at it."

Peter opened the file, scanning the contents. "Bond forgery?"

"Look familiar?"

Peter flipped through a few more pages. Yes, something looked familiar, too familiar. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"If you mean that this has something to do with Caffrey..."

Peter leafed his hand through his hair. He could picture Neal making off with the U-boat treasure, but bond forgery? After all these years? Then again, these days he didn't feel like he knew the man at all anymore. "Okay, let me take a closer look."

Hughes gave Peter a stern, concerned look. "I know things between you and Caffrey haven't been... easy lately. Do you think he could be involved in this?"

"Truthfully? I don't know. Hopefully we'll find out."

Hughes just nodded and left Peter's office.

Peter combed through the file for the next hour or so, then called Diana into the conference room. He'd have preferred to bring Jones in as well, but he was with Neal and the prosecution team today.

Diana looked through the file, taking in the information, listening to what Peter laid out for her. She was just as baffled as Peter.

"You think Neal is involved in this?"

Peter had a pained look on his face that she couldn't quite interpret.

"Look at the evidence and tell me you're not thinking the same thing."

She pursed her lips. "I don't know, Boss. It just seems a little too convenient, don't you think? I mean, we're talking about Neal here. He's too smart to make the same mistake twice. This is what landed him in prison the first time. I just don't see it. He's many things, but never sloppy."

"You're right, but even the best criminals make mistakes. We should look at the bonds under polarized light."

"Why?"

"Neal signed the bonds with his initials. He even told me that himself."

"Did you check?"

"The ones he was convicted for? Yeah. He was right. The 'NC' was unmistakable."

"So you're thinking if we find the same 'NC' on these bonds, we'll know who forged them," she stated.

"Now you're catching on."

She nodded. "I'll talk to the lab."

"See what else you can find out. I want a fresh pair of eyes on this."

"Will do, Boss."

* * *

><p>Peter liked nothing more than to crack a good case, than to revel in the satisfaction of nailing the culprit, finding irrefutable evidence that linked them to the crime.<p>

Not so much here, now. After thorough investigation of the evidence over the last few days (conveniently in Neal's absence), everything pointed at Neal, and it wasn't just the signature that Peter had suspected they'd find. Even Neal's tracking data looked suspicious in the context of this new bond forgery case.

Peter had the file lying open on his desk. His head in this hands on propped up elbows, he stared at the blown up image of the tiny letters spelling 'NC' in one corner of the bank seal. Even though suspicions where still nagging at the back of his mind that Neal had his hands in the disappeared U-boat treasure, this was something else entirely. This was worse. This was concrete evidence that tied Neal to bond forgery. This was grounds to have him questioned, interrogated, possibly arrested.

The Johnson trial had ended the day before. Peter hadn't seen Neal all week, which was probably a good thing, but also made it harder to sort out how he felt about all this. Most predominantly, though, there was the angry disappointment in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Neal having gone back to the kind of criminal ploys Peter had worked so very hard to steer him away from. And for a while he'd had the illusion that he might have managed to succeed.

Peter looked at his watch. It was still early and there was only a handful of early birds already in the office. He was already dreading the moment Neal would come walking through those doors. Because it was then that the accusations would have to be made official, that confrontation would start. He was sure it wasn't going to be pleasant.

Just about an hour later, Peter looked up to see Neal prancing through the bullpen. He seemed to be in a good mood, energetically throwing his Trilby onto his desk, smiling a Good Morning greeting to some of the agents. It only fuelled Peter's subdued anger.

He got up from his desk. He knew he needed to speak to Neal alone first, so he ventured down the stairs.

Neal nodded his head, the smile on his lips fading. "Peter," he said, his tone carefully neutral.

Peter knew his expression didn't betray his state of mind in the least. "My office. Now."

"And good morning to you too," Neal muttered under his breath, but Peter decided to ignore the quip.

In Peter's office, Neal took his usual seat opposite the desk. Peter closed the door behind them and decided to lean against the window sill rather than sit in his desk chair. "Look at the file in front of you and tell me what you see."

Neal first looked at Peter questioningly, then opened the file. His brow creased in confusion the further he read. "No," he finally whispered hoarsely. "No, Peter, this isn't what it looks like."

"And what does it look like?"

"Like this is something I did. Like I forged those bonds."

"Damn right it does."

Neal looked Peter straight in the eye. His tone was almost pleading. "Peter, I didn't do this. I swear to you, someone's trying to frame me."

Peter let out a bitter chuckle. "Yeah. Because that's a likely explanation. I mean, gee, why didn't we think of that before?" It was then that he exploded, closing the gap between him and the desk in three quick strides, raising his voice. "Shit, Neal, don't you realize how this looks? We went through the evidence, had it analyzed. Then went through it again. There is no other explanation. This was you. Every damn thing points at you."

Neal got up from his chair, now standing opposite Peter. "That means whoever is framing me is doing a hell of a job. Peter, I am standing here, saying to your face that I did not do it. I know my word doesn't count for much around here right now, but I am telling you truthfully that I did _not_ do this!"

Peter drew in a sharp breath, holding it for a moment before he released it. "Dammit, Neal, that's not good enough. This is evidence. And your mere word against it is not gonna cut it."

Neal suddenly went quiet, his tone resigned. "I get it. I'm a convicted criminal with a history of bond forgery. So what? You're going to arrest me?"

Peter's eyes were hard, sympathy uncharacteristically absent. "I don't see that I have much of a choice."

"Okay," Neal said in a low voice. "If you choose you'd rather believe the paperwork than what I have to say, I guess there's no point in trying to make my case. Congratulations, Agent Burke. Another case wrapped up, another arrest on your score card. Can you at least let Diana take me to processing?"

"There's going to be an official interrogation first."

"Oh wow, how did I ever deserve the courtesy?"

"Save it, Neal."

"Yeah," he said dryly.

Peter opened the door to the conference room, gesturing for Neal to go in. "Wait here."

Neal's eyes briefly met Peter's before he asked, "Can I at least take another look at the file?"

Peter mulled the request over for a moment. It was a big no-no to give the prime suspect access to his FBI file. But this was different, this was... Screw it. Peter grabbed the file off his desk and threw it onto the conference table. "Looks like I accidentally forgot a file in the conference room."

Neal choked out a "Thank you," and sat down, flapping open the blue cardboard cover.

* * *

><p>The interrogation was awkward, even though both Hughes and Peter tried to stay professional. Neither man could hide his disappointment. The arguments Neal had to present didn't do much in terms of deflecting the incriminating evidence.<p>

When he told Peter to check his tracking data, Peter's mouth hardened, showing Neal a printout of his movements on April 25. Neal had been to one particular location that turned out to be the bank where the bonds had been cashed that day. It was within his radius. Another piece of the puzzle.

Even Neal started to see that all odds were against him. In the end, he resigned and stayed quiet, but never admitted to anything.

There was a long silence when the interrogation concluded, and Hughes took a good look at him. "Caffrey, I think you're starting to see that this doesn't look good for you."

Neal nodded.

"Guilty or not, I don't think the situation leaves us any wiggle room."

"I understand," Neal said in a muted voice.

Hughes nodded curtly to Peter. "Burke, I'll leave the rest to you."

Peter acknowledged as Hughes left the room. He drew the chair opposite Neal away from the table and sat down with a heavy sigh. He studied Neal, taking in his lowered head, the pained look on his face. It just didn't sit right and the anger in his belly made way for something not quite as fierce.

It was then that Neal looked up, staring right into Peter's eyes. His voice was desperate, pleading. "Peter, don't do this. I didn't forge these bonds."

Peter couldn't look away, couldn't help but notice the wet sheen in Neal's eyes, the despair in his expression. Something inside him tore and he closed his eyes for a long moment.

"Neal..." he started.

"I swear, I didn't do this," Neal whispered.

"Okay," Peter acquiesced. "Let's assume for a moment that's the truth, what do you suggest we do? You've seen the file, you've seen the evidence. How would we prove that you're innocent?"

Neal slowly shook his head. "I don't know."

"That doesn't help. Who might be out to get you? You must have a suspicion. Could this be Adler?"

Neal's attention perked up. "I don't see how. I don't think he knew about the bond forgery I was convicted for, at least not from me."

"And you don't think Fowler could have told him? Or Kate?"

A shadow crossed Neal's features, but Peter ignored it. Neal swallowed, then said, "I... I guess she could have, but how would Adler have done this? He's in the hospital, in a coma. He must've had a brilliant backup plan or a great clairvoyant to have someone else pull this off _for_ him. No, the only person I can think of is Keller. He knows that I signed the bank seal, he knows more about me than any crook out there. He also knows how to forge bonds."

"Keller..." Peter mused. "Why now?"

"Why _not_ now? This is as good a time as any. You know he'd want to exact his revenge. He's the kind who broods, who doesn't forget. There's nothing he'd enjoy more than seeing me behind bars. Though I gotta say the feeling is mutual."

"That's all well and good, but how do we prove it?"

Neal narrowed his eyes for a moment. "Keller's kinda brilliant in his own way, but he's too impulsive sometimes, doesn't think things through. There's gotta be a weakness somewhere—a flaw we need to find." He paused for a moment, then asked, "You mentioned the bank. Did you look at the security cameras? Keller's not much of a tech guy and canvassing was never his strong suit."

"Yes, we looked at the surveillance footage. We saw _you_ there."

"Cashing a check. There's nothing illegal about that."

"No, it's not, but it places you at the bank, on the day in question. With your track record, you know that looks bad."

"Maybe it does, but it doesn't mean Keller wasn't there too. You were looking for _me_, you weren't looking for Keller. Can you check again? Banks sometimes have hidden cameras he might not have been aware of. Did you check surrounding buildings for public video surveillance? There's gotta be _some_thing."

Peter hesitated. Were they ready to reopen the investigation? Then again, didn't he owe it to Neal, despite everything that happened, despite his preconceptions? "Okay," he finally agreed. "We'll look into this again. But in the meantime..."

"... you need to take me to central booking. I know."

Neal got up from the table, looking like he expected Peter to cuff him. But Peter just got up and nodded in the direction of the door. "Let's go."

Silence settled in the car over the low hum of the engine. Neal just stared out the window, and Peter got it. There was no knowing how long Neal would have to spend behind bars this time. He was soaking in the last remnants of (relative) freedom and the city.

"Is there anything you want me to get you from your place?" Peter suddenly asked into the silence.

Neal turned his attention at him. "There's a few books on my nightstand. My sketchbook maybe. And the lockpicking tools disguised in a piece of soap would be great."

"You keep lockpicking tools disguised in a piece of soap in your apartment?"

"Relax, Peter, I was kidding."

"Notice me not laughing."

They grew quiet again for the rest of the trip. Peter wondered what Elizabeth would say when she told her Neal was back in prison. It was one conversation he wasn't looking forward to.

Before Peter handed Neal over to be processed, the two shared a silent glance that was pregnant with meaning. There was no goodbye, no apology, no promises. A perfect effigy of their relationship ever since the U-boat incident.

In the Taurus, Peter slammed his palms against the steering wheel in frustration, muttering a heartfelt, "Dammit!"

* * *

><p>The next day, Diana came into Peter's office. "I think we've got something."<p>

She asked Peter to join her and Jones in the conference room. With the remote control, she replayed the video that was displayed on the TV screen on the wall. In the video you could see a busy street with many people milling about. Diana paused the video, indicating a figure that was very grainy.

"See that? Doesn't that guy look like Keller?"

Peter squinted at the screen. With a lot of imagination, you could read Matthew Keller into the face. But with equal imagination, you could make the person into just about any other dark haired individual wearing a baseball cap. "It's awfully blurry," Peter commented.

"We've already sent it to the tech guys, maybe they can clean it up. But just look at how he moves. We really think that could be him."

She rewound the video again, replaying the part where "Keller" came into view.

Peter studied it, tried to read it. Diana could be right. He nodded. "It's a good lead. See what you can do with it. Keep digging."

"Got it, Boss."

Two days later, it turned out Diana had been right. IT had done a pretty good job at reconstructing the video snapshot. The photo didn't leave any doubt, it was definitely Keller. And now that they had a timestamp, it wasn't difficult to trace Keller through the bank with the envelope he carried under his arm.

Diana and Peter went back to the bank and talked to some of the employees, Keller's photo aiding the process. Things fell into place, and suddenly they had a case against him. Peter was amazed at how easy it had been after they'd found the first breadcrumb.

It was harder yet to prove Neal had been framed and was actually innocent, but they were now working hard on that. Peter drove out to prison that afternoon to bear the good news.

The visitor's area was just as drab as Peter remembered it, and he felt just as uncomfortable. Neal was being patted down by a guard before they let him into the room. Neal slid into the bench opposite Peter, looking... what exactly? Peter tried to find an indication as to Neal's state of mind in his blue eyes, and came up empty. The Caffrey mask was definitely on.

"Hey," Peter carefully greeted him. "They treating you okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Neal chirped.

"We both know that's a lie, but that's not why I'm here. We've got Keller."

Neal's mood visibly perked up. "You do? For real?"

"Yeah, for real. You were right. He was at the bank. We've got him on surveillance video. It was easy to go from there."

"That's... good news, right?"

"Yes, that's good news. But we're still working on how to prove that he framed you."

Neal leaned closer. "Peter, I can help. I know this guy way better than you ever could. I know how he operates."

Peter mulled this over for a moment, then said, "Okay, I'll see what I can do."

A brief silence settled, then Peter met Neal's eyes. This was going to be difficult to say. "Neal, I think, I... I owe you an apology. I jumped to conclusions, and I shouldn't have. Now look where that's led."

"It's okay, Peter."

"No, it's _not_ okay," Peter raised his voice. "You're back in prison, and that's very much not okay."

Neal lowered his head. "I've had some time to think, and even though this may sound kinda crazy, I understand."

"Understand what?"

"Why you jumped to conclusions."

"Be that as it may, it doesn't excuse the fact that I didn't even listen to you. That I didn't even think to doubt you were guilty of forging the bonds. You looked me right in the eye and told me you didn't do it. And I just shrugged it off. It was a very shitty move on my part."

"You were angry."

"_Oh_ yeah."

"You get impulsive when you're angry."

"I do?"

"_Oh_ yeah," Neal echoed. "And you don't make rational decisions when you're impulsive."

"I think the meaning of the word 'impulsive' kinda implies that." He paused their repartee for a moment, then added, "Neal, I'm sorry."

Neal met his eyes, nodding almost imperceptibly. "Apology accepted. Now can we work on getting me out of here?"

"Yeah, sure. Diana and Jones are already on the case. Let me see how I can get you involved. Hopefully this'll be over soon."

"Yeah," Neal agreed.

Peter looked at Neal, waited a moment. There was still something else simmering underneath. "Neal," he said, "Can we go back to the conversation about the U-boat?"

"I told you I didn't steal the treasure."

"And you're standing by that?"

Neal's answer was swift and honest. "Yes. I swear to you I have nothing to do with blowing up the U boat or stealing what was inside."

"Very well," Peter said.

"Any news on that particular investigation?"

Peter shook his head. "Nope. All we have are dead ends."

"Right," Neal said, and Peter thought he saw a moment's hesitation in Neal's demeanor. Was there still something he wasn't telling him?

"Is that it?"

"What do you mean?"

"There's nothing else you wanna say about the case?"

He shrugged. "What can I say? The U-boat blew up. The treasure's gone without a trace, Adler's not gonna be able to talk any time soon. Did you know he offered me a deal, just before the warehouse exploded?"

"A deal? What kind of deal?"

"He said half the treasure would be mine if I helped him get past the FBI perimeter."

"And?"

"And I told him to go to hell. It was then that the warehouse exploded and Adler pointed his gun at me. You know the rest."

A brief shadow crossed Peter's face as he went back to that moment. "Yeah," he said grimly. "So I guess we're all out of leads."

"Does that mean I'm not a suspect anymore?"

"Innocent until proven guilty, right?"

Neal lowered his gaze to stare at the scratches on the table's surface. "Thanks," he muttered.

"So, uhm, is there anything I can do for you? Anything I can get you?"

A smirk slowly crept up Neal's lips. "You know that piece of soap I talked about the other day?"

Peter's mouth curved into a matching lopsided grin. "Don't push it." He got up from the bench. "Listen, I'm gonna be back tomorrow, okay?"

Neal looked positively hopeful. "Okay."

Peter was already turning to go when Neal's voice made him stop. "Peter?"

He turned back around. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

Peter nodded once. "You're welcome."

* * *

><p>A week later, and Neal was a free man again—or as free as his 2-mile radius would permit. Everyone had worked hard on combing through the evidence, and it eventually paid off, largely thanks to Neal's own involvement.<p>

Two weeks later, and there was still no trace of Keller. While they had all the evidence, they didn't have the man himself. Neal had a suspicion he was still in New York, even though everyone else was positive that he'd long left the state, possibly the country. There was only so much time they could spend on a manhunt with few leads that were thinning with every day that went by. In the end, they had to capitulate.

Peter was just about to type up the last few sentences of the official report when Neal came into his office, holding a stack of files that he put on Peter's desk.

"I've gone through these. There's nothing."

Peter sighed. "Yeah. Figures. The man's an enigma."

"Just like any true con artist."

"You say that as if you admire the guy."

Neal's expression was ambiguous. "I guess part of me does."

"Geez, the man's a criminal. He tried to frame you for a crime you didn't commit, and it almost worked, and you still look up to him?"

Neal looked at Peter, curious. "It kills you that we didn't catch Keller, doesn't it?"

"It doesn't bother _you_?"

"Oh, of course it does. But I've been playing cat and mouse with him for the better part of a decade. I know better not to underestimate him."

"So what is it with you and Keller? You said you met him playing backgammon in Monaco. What's your history exactly?"

Neal hesitated, then put on a wistful smile. "You know... I think we may have to table that particular story for another time when you're ready to grant me immunity again. Say, if we ever get trapped in an elevator together. Or a panic room. Or something."

Peter raised his eyebrows. "Okay, if that story only goes together with us being trapped in enclosed spaces, I think I'll pass."

Neal grinned. "Suit yourself."

* * *

><p>THE END.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note #2:<br>**I know I kinda strayed away from the U-boat treasure subject there towards the end. I thought about having Neal confess to Peter that he has the treasure, but for mainly two reasons I didn't:  
>1) I'd rather have Jeff Eastin deal with it and resolve it the way it's supposed to than have my story spiral further into AU-ishness. June 7 will tell.<br>2) I like the idea of there being this inkling of non-trust between the two in the background, even though they just made up and Peter apologized for putting Neal back in prison (which, by the way, wasn't even something I really planned, it just kinda happened as I was writing).  
>And I hope you don't hate me for making this story about Keller but not about Keller. He's a fabulous villain, and I love that they brought him back with a vengeance in season 2, but—truth be told—I was too lazy to think up and unravel this whole, elaborate plot. Keller fans, can you forgive me?<p> 


End file.
